Lament
by Fyyrrose
Summary: Challenge fic Time stops for no one. oneshot


**Title**: Lament

**Author**: Fyyrrose

**Disclaimer**: so not mine

**Summary**: Challenge fic. Time stops for no one. Walter/Integra

**Rating**: K ...I know, _so_ not my style...but it is

**Notes**: It's another challenge fic from EEevee. It might be a tad OOC, but I warned you. It's been about a year since I've seen the series so bear with me.

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Sir Integra Hellsing lit the wooden box on fire in the dungeon. Inside there was nothing. There was no human, like it should have contained, but she always knew it would come down to this. The fire could burn all night, but it would not get passed stone walls. She thought about putting something like a doll, or some sort of representation, but she was realistic. To do even this was out of her normal cold-hearted character.

It wasn't that she was cold. She did have a heart; it was in her chest where it belonged. These feelings of regret and mourning were something that breezed past her like the autumn wind.

She lit her cigar and stood watching over the burning box. Somehow she knew this was meant for her. She should have been the one that died. Then again she had a mission to complete, and nothing would stop that. Not even the knowledge that she should have been in this box instead of him…

She took out a cigar out from the inner linings of her jacket pocket and lit it. The sweet smell mixed with wood smoke. It was a refreshing scent compared to the blood she was used to.

Taking time out to say goodbye to an old friend was one of the few times she ever had to herself. She wasn't afraid of her thoughts, but she didn't know if she was really ready to let go. Death comes so suddenly, and in this line of work…it comes faster than you think.

In the past, back when her father was still alive, she remembered watching him as he wrote letters to the families of those that lost someone. But after he died, she was forced to hire someone to do that. She even created a template. Yes, a generic piece of paper saying your son or daughter is dead.

It wasn't cold; it was part of work. It was part of life. It was a fact of her life. Death was just as unforgiving as life. There are no do-overs, there are no roll-backs, and there is no turning back. Moving forward—that was the only thing her father taught her.

She inhaled the sweet tasting cigar and exhaled mixing the smokes together. Her uncle, he was the one that taught her to live in the no regrets. It was because of that fact she was able to have him killed. Even at such a young age, the fierce drive to live told her to do whatever it took to live.

She made a pact with the devil to live. She scoffed at the idea, but that's what she did. She almost let out a snort. She was never subjected to a normal childhood, not that she would want to have one now. Dolls, dresses, tea parties and sleepovers were not her idea of fun.

Once she almost wished for the world to have been different, but then she realized that she was wasting precious energy thinking about something that would never happen; so she stopped.

She was born and formed to be the protector to all things lost. She created and molded herself to be what she was today, so other young females wouldn't have to go through what she did. If at all possible, she hardened herself so others wouldn't suffer.

No one would know what she went through. The only time the world would notice her feats would be when she failed. That word was not in her vocabulary. She would not tolerate failure; she did not tolerate failure.

Damn what others thought, they were of simple minds. They all thought they knew better. She flicked the ashes onto the floor.

He should have known better. In saving her life, he had failed. All that remained of him was this symbolic box that she was burning. To be so easily taken by death meant that he was human after all.

After all, he had seen worse and lived. He knew the risks, yet he still took them knowing that he would die. He was a fool, but he was the closest thing she had to a friend. She flicked the ashes on her cigar. She was a little frustrated that this was the best she could do for him.

Not being able to stand this train of thought, she exited the room and walked down the corridor to another room. She opened the heavy door and walked inside. The room was not touched since he was last here. His latest project sat half completed on his worktable.

Wires, screws, and pieces of metal were all lined up nicely waiting to be assembled. She smirked. He was like that. Methodical to the very end. No one would ever think he was the angel of death just by looking at him. He looked the very part of a kind and loving father and grandfather.

She half wondered why he never had children, but shook her head at the nonsense that was running through her head. She knew the truth. But part of her didn't want to admit it.

He loved this room. She gave a half smile, but it was hidden behind the drag of her cigar. This was his sanctuary; his playroom. He could have been down here for hours on end tinkering on his toys. How they brought him joy.

She fingered his newest creation. It was a new weapon he had made for someone, who it was made for she didn't really care. She picked up the gun and felt the weight in her hand. It felt surprisingly light.

"Sir Integra, what brings you down here?"

She placed the gun back in its position and turned around. "Just reflecting on why you were a fool."

Walter shrugged and tipped his head in his customary obedience. "Your life is more precious than mine. I did what I had to do, that's all."

Integra flicked the ashes into the ashtray Walter always kept around for the smokers. "The organization would have lived on." She scoffed at the man before her. "You of all people should have known this."

"But you wouldn't have Sir Integra."

Integra's eyes narrowed as she became a tad furious. "Nothing is more important than the organization. You of all people should know better!" She took a few deep breaths to calm herself back down. There was no use in getting all worked up in something that was done already.

"To you maybe, but not to me. It was my choice and in the end I made it." Walter took a step towards her. "I did what needed to be done. The least you can do is say thank you to the person that saved your life."

Integra stood there staring at him. A long pause from both of them ensued until she finally broke it. "Thank you."

She butted out her cigar and made sure to grind it down to the stub. It relieved some tension she was feeling. She turned and walked back towards the door.

"Sir Integra, I hope you live a long and happy life. That's the only thing I've ever wished for you."

"Wishing is for fools who have no sense to take what they want."

Walter smiled and bowed his head, "You are a realist to the bitter end. That's why I fell in lo-"

"That too is for fools."

Walter smiled and bowed again. He gave a slight chuckle causing Integra to turn back. She turned to find herself once again alone in the cold, dark room. "Goodbye Walter," She said as she flicked off the lights and closed the door.


End file.
